Dangerous Beauty
by KariAgaKhan
Summary: In the wake of a terrorist attack in Chicago, Nancy disappears. What changes are wrought in Nancy's life and those of her friends and family? Set in the Nancy Drew Files/Hardy Boys canon, with some changes. Now presenting chapter three!
1. The Comfort of Routine

Chapter One – The Comfort of Routine

Hannah Grüen began her chores the same way she did every morning. She dressed in her normal prim and proper attire and checked her list of tasks to complete for the day. "Vacuum the rugs," "sweep the floors," "pick up fresh produce" were all the top of her list. She followed with the weekly tasks: laundry, dry cleaning, and bedding. There was one more item on her weekly list that she routinely saved for last these days. She never minded the work she did, never complained about the care she put into keeping this home neat and clean. Dusting, on the other hand, was becoming more and more o f a chore. That task in and of itself had changed. She had no problem wiping the wood furnishings throughout the house. Starting out with a cheery whistle of one of her favorite childhood songs, she would make each piece gleam and hum with the fragrance of oranges. Inevitably, as she neared the end of her chore she became more subdued until, finally, the task she'd been dreading since the last dusting had arrived.

Hannah looked at the number of framed photographs and sighed. It was getting harder by the week to dust those photographs. Each of them reminded her of the changes, both happy and sad that had come to this home. The largest one, a photo of a young man and woman in front of a cathedral hung, surrounded by friends and family. To the left, one of that very same couple, both in graduation gowns with two elder couples flanking them, their love and approval clearly evident on their faces. To the right of the wedding picture was the man, a little older now, standing in front of a Chicago law firm his arm around his pregnant wife, both beaming for the camera. Directly below the wedding picture was the first family photograph, taken by a close friend of the couple. Between the two of them was a bright-eyed baby girl, who seemed to inherit her parents' smile right out of the womb.

Those pictures spoke of promise, of happiness and a bright future.

It was an awful feeling, knowing that she could trace the dark days so easily, just by turning away from that wall and applying that duster to another picture frame. As she swept from one picture to the next throughout the home, the beautiful wife vanished entirely. The man still smiled into the camera, his love for his daughter clearly etched in his face, but the eyes…they spoke of a loss that never quite faded away, no matter how unaware the little girl in the picture was of how profoundly that loss affected him. Yet there was healing in those pictures as well. That little girl grew up, beautiful and strong, with an intellect of which both parents would have been proud.

And coming full circle, in the study, Hannah stopped in front of a large photograph of the girl she had come to love as a granddaughter, dressed in commencement regalia, father and aunt at her side, arm around Hannah's shoulders, grinning for all she was worth.

_Promise, happiness and a bright future._

The tears had already begun to fall, but it wasn't until she reached the last photograph that they'd become an unstoppable torrent. It just wasn't fair! Hadn't this man suffered enough tragedy in his life? First his wife and then, just when she was poised to begin a new phase of her life, his daughter? Hadn't she suffered enough, losing her family in order to escape to freedom west of Khrushchev's Berlin Wall? It wasn't supposed to happen like this, was it? To add insult to injury, they only had the memory of pictures, because the home itself was different.

The alarm system sounded, announcing that someone had entered from the garage. Wiping her tears as hastily as she could, Hannah headed downstairs to greet the man who suffered more than she ever could.

Carson Drew noted the approaching footsteps and sat his weary frame into the nearest chair. He'd had a full docket today, and none of his cases were easy wins; in fact, they all required continuances in order to proceed. Carson smiled humorlessly. Not one of those continuances had come from his side of the courtroom. Between his amazing research staff, his legal team's analytic skills and instincts, and his own intellect and experience, his firm was difficult to beat in the courtroom or at the bargaining table.

Carson's firm had run on a simple plan since he set out his shingle over twenty years ago, but he nevertheless managed to gain a great deal of fame and respect as a criminal attorney. Yet, just when his friends and rivals thought he couldn't get any better, he kicked in with an intensity they'd not thought possible. He dramatically expanded his research division, and started acquiring additional associates to handle the less urgent legal matters. No one was surprised when he made these changes. A man on a mission would have settled for nothing less.

Carson had been reluctant to expand in the past. He'd been saving most of his profits to give to his source of joy, the reason he breathed. He didn't have to worry about recovering the funds he invested. He'd made it all back plus thousands more, though it gave him little comfort anymore. It was always the next case for him, the next victory over an opponent in the battle to save a client he believed in.

It felt as if was nothing else left, no matter how often his rational side chided him for such a notion.

The footsteps were closer now, and Carson could hear the telltale sounds of a woman's tears. His eyes found the calendar by the dining room entrance—July 25, 2008.

"Ah, yes, Friday," Carson sighed. Every week, they dragged themselves through the same routine. Carson came home ready to drop from exhaustion, and Hannah would greet him after dusting the framed pictures that graced his home. Hannah would compose herself on the short journey from his study to the kitchen, but he'd hear her sniffles before she entered the room. Neither would address the source of their gloom, but it would be there, thick as Scottish fog and just as difficult to ignore.

The ritual lent such elegance to their misfortune. Carson chuckled, shaking his head. The ever-present reporters, forced by court order to remain outside of his neighborhood, helped that along as well. He couldn't even say that his family endured a hardship that many other families have experienced.

"The Drews don't know the meaning of the word _simple,_ do we?" he murmured.

"Not at all, Carson!" Hannah replied as she entered the kitchen. She beamed at her long-time employer, hoping to distract him from her red eyes and sniffling nose. She busied herself with brewing fresh coffee and preliminary food preparations for dinner. "I take it you had a productive day at the firm?"

Carson closed his eyes, breathing in the aroma of his favorite coffee. It never failed in relax him, if only a little. "Always, Hannah." He smiled at her then, reminding her of happier times and happier pictures. "I can't believe how well Victor Bane is working out. He's proven to have a great head for research. Makes all of our lives easier."

That was their routine, going through the motions and trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy when everything was anything but normal. Hannah prepared dinner while Carson talked about his cases. The lawyer looked through the mail while the housekeeper recalled some funny exchange she witnessed at the market. Both tried to keep the other from noticing how often they glanced over at the phone, as if it were a beacon to guide them in from stormy seas.

Finally, as it happened every Friday evening, Hannah laid down the gauntlet as gently as she could.

"Is there any word, Carson?" she asked, the hope in her inquiry an ill-match for the despair in her voice. "Is it safe for Nancy to come home?"

Carson sighed again, wishing they never had to have this conversation, but knowing he wouldn't stop it even if he could. He looked up at his housekeeper, his friend, and said the dreaded words. "No word from them, Hannah. She isn't coming home to us yet."

Hannah took a deep breath, eyes closed to the empty chair beside her. When she could trust herself to speak, she looked at Carson. "I just wish we could talk to her, tell her we love her."

Carson reached over and patted her hand. "Nancy knows, Hannah. I'm sure she knows."


	2. Bombs and Brits

Chapter 2 – Bombs and Brits

There's no place like Chicago in the spring, no matter what New Yorkers might say. Fans hope the Bulls' season comes to a close with rings on their fingers, and pray the Blackhawks bring home Stanley. Cubs and White Sox soldiers stare each other down across tables at sports bars around the city, arguing about Spring Training, while Bears fans content themselves with lesser sports and fantasy leagues until training camp starts. Sports widows—and widowers—come together in a ritual as old as Michigan Avenue, joining the throngs of natives and tourists alike, a tightly packed mass of humanity collectively weaving its serpentine form through museums, boutiques and restaurants. New Yorker vitriol aside, Chicago was the vital artery that kept the country connected. And the pizzas aren't half bad, either.

No, there's no place like Chicago in the spring. But on July 25, 2005, even the New Yorkers weren't comparing sports teams or restaurants.

No one thinks about those things when buildings explode.

No matter how difficult it is to watch, most people cannot help but turn away from their normal routine to see for themselves how their lives will be turned upside down, who has been ripped away, cruelly, from humanity's earthly embrace.

Across Metro Chicago, baseball was a distraction, not a focus, as televisions tuned to the local news stations. In waiting rooms customers and patients remembered their lives weren't quite as bad as they thought they were. Train, bus and airport terminals found strangers becoming temporary friends while they waited through trip delays that were certain to last hours. Couch potatoes and casual watchers alike struggled to make sense of unspeakable barbarism. In the Drew household, it was no different.

…_Homeland Security is scrambling to locate witnesses to a particularly brutal attack on the Sears Tower this afternoon. Explosive devices detonated in the concierge area as employees left for lunch, and while numbers are not available, sources indicate that the death toll stands at 57. With an unknown number of injuries, that number is expected to rise quickly. The local Homeland Security bureau chief, Nathan Potts, has delegated witness interviews to the Chicago Police Department, while the local FBI goes about the grueling task of collecting evidence._ _We will bring you additional information as it becomes available. It truly is a sad day for the people of Chicago. We're going to take you live to a press conference being held at city hall with Mayor Daly as soon as it begins. In the meantime…_

The news anchor, an older man with hair artfully graying at the temples, wore his gravest expression as he spoke with a quickly assembled panel of experts to discuss the Sears Tower attack. There was no question that it was an act of terrorism. What was unclear was who was responsible.

No couch potato herself, Nancy Drew chewed on a lock of hair as she watched the latest on the attack. She sat at the kitchen with best friends George Fayne and Bess Marvin, plans for a girls' night out postponed by the news broadcast.

George wrinkled her nose in disgust at one of the panelists, Dr. Michael Fogg of the American Heritage Trust. "The way you hear him tell it, anyone that lives within eyeshot of a mosque is a potential suspect."

Nancy rolled her eyes. "Which means everyone with 'al' or 'ibn' in their last name had better surrender to authorities now. You know, just to prove what good Americans they all are. Jesus, that Fogg's a pig."

George shrugged, "You're preaching to the choir, Nan," she agreed. "I'm sure we can count on a few people doing something incredibly stupid. You know, some well meaning old biddy calling the police because women in burkas who garden are a threat to national security." Nancy laughed out aloud, and George joined in. "Still," she said, chuckling, "there's always room for hope."

Bess watched the exchange while keeping her eye on Hannah's oatmeal raisin cookies cooling on the island in the middle of the kitchen. _Hurry up, damn you,_ her inner cookie monster whined. To her friend and cousin, she complained, "Well doesn't he have a point? I suppose you don't automatically start with Muslim extremists, but don't you start with the most likely suspects first, based on, um, precedence?"

Nancy and George both had to admit she had a point. Bess' cousin beat Nancy to the punch and countered, "The problem, Bess, is when the people running the investigation have a preconceived notion of who the usual suspects are." George warmed up to her argument, her voice rising slightly "Everyone that looks like they may be from the Middle East or is Muslim is automatically the first one anyone thinks of, which is beyond stupid."

Bess waved her hands in front of her, "Woah, George, easy on the caffeine! I'm just asking questions here. You don't have to jump down my throat."

Snatches of the debate filtered in through the brief lapses in the girls' conversation. One of the panelists, Dr. Erin Baxter from the University of Chicago, was more than happy to pit herself against Dr. Fogg.

…_Dr._ _Fogg, how can you deny the fact that most of the acts of terrorism in the United States were the work of fellow citizens? You're trying to make the numbers of casualties the most definitive focus instead of the _number_ of attacks against American citizens…_

Bess fidgeted in her chair. "And that answers my question." She looked over at George, daring her to argue. "Can we possibly talk about something else? All this death and terror business is too depressing, not to mention making me hungry."

"I'll agree with you on the depressing part," Nancy relented, "and I can easily eat a herd of cattle right now, PETA be damned. We can let it go for now though, and head off, if you guys are still up for it." The redhead looked at her watch. "We can go somewhere for dinner and still make _The Lighthouse_ at eight-thirty if we hurry."

Bess swooped over to the island to grab a couple of cookies. _Just the right temperature, ah, that's heaven._ She crammed one of the treats into her mouth, chewing on her way back to the table. She sat down again, swallowing her prize and shaking her head. "Nope, it's my turn to pick the movie, remember? Let's do something a little less heavy in the 'human condition and intensive character study' department." Her blue eyes lit up. "The British comedy festival opened downtown last night. They're doing _Absolutely Fabulous_ and _Are You Being Served?_ over the weekend. Whaddya say?" she asked, bopping up and down in her seat.

Nancy and George grinned back at her. Trust the stars to align and combine one of the girls' favorite genres with Bess' favorite topics—fashion and shopping.

"Excellent," George high-fived her cousin in approval.

Bess held out her other hand and made a show of examining her fingernails. "I've been known to have a good idea every once and a while. Besides," she winked at Hannah, who'd entered the kitchen at the sound of the oven buzzer to pull the last tray of cookies out to cool, "laughing will burn all the calories I'll gain from inhaling Hannah's cookies."

The trio headed to Nancy's car—it was the only one not filled with sports equipment or shopping bags with items to return to the mall—and out into the waning day, the Sears Tower attack temporarily out of their immediate minds. Bess' suggestion turned out to be a winner. These were stories about ordinary people—a staff of clothing retailers struggle to make a life out of working for a miserly boss whose store was fading into obscurity, of two women trying their hardest to remain relevant and sexy in the fashion world, where thin was in and experience only meant one was too old. Fortunately the British are a nation that titled a series about retirees at a rest home _Waiting for God, _and something that had the potential to come across as a boring documentary or a terrible drama was instead comic genius.

It was impossible _not_ to laugh, to feel the healing balm of humor spread through limbs and remember that after mourning loss, one had to celebrate life.

Hours later, as the girls spread out in Nancy's room for the night, the room's owner tiptoed out of her room, and down to the kitchen. The light leaking through the dining room door told her someone else likely had the same idea she did, a large class of milk and several of Hannah's cookies. She nudged open the door wide enough to slink through and made her way quietly to the figure rummaging through the refrigerator. Once she was close enough to touch—

"Should I get two classes instead of one?" Carson Drew asked, suddenly turning around with a carton of milk in his left hand. He grinned at Nancy, happily receiving the hug and kiss from the reason he breathed. It was in these moments like these, absent of distractions, that she most reminded him of Meredith, full of affection, good humor and energy, with a keen intelligence that saw things most others did not.

The two sat down at the kitchen table, sharing a few cookies, each with a glass of milk.

"I remember when I went through the 'I'm too cool to eat cookies and milk with my dad' phase," she remarked, drawing a surprised look from Carson. "It lasted all of five days," she reassured him.

Carson grinned, "That's my girl. The old man is always cool."

"Ha! I didn't say that," Nancy protested. "Aren't lawyers supposed to avoid making assumptions?"

Her dad raised an eyebrow, "Since when, girl? You've sat in on my closing arguments before. Assumptions make and break cases all of the time. Besides," he added with a wink, "I actually am cool. The summer interns say so all the time."

Nancy smiled, leaning her head on Carson's shoulder. "They're your interns, Dad." She stood up, draining her glass. "It's their job to slave away for hours doing research and competing for a glowing recommendation. You've got a captive audience." She managed to dodge a half-hearted swat in retaliation, and stuck out her tongue. She put her glass in the dishwasher and headed to the dining room door. Reaching the table she leaned over and hugged her father again. "But they're right," she said, "my dad is cool. Good night, Dad. Love you."

His heart swelled. Full of hope and regret, Carson kissed the back of his daughter's right hand. "Love you too, lass. Sleep well."

Watching her leave, Carson thought back to the events that had unfolded that day. Terrorism in Chicago was not an unforeseeable event, but it was scary nonetheless. Sometimes he wished Nancy was four years old again, content to sit in his lap and read her favorite story to him. It never surprised him, his daughter's fearlessness, but his admiration warred with his protective instincts.

As Nancy emerged as an adult, he tried to become more of a guide than a guardian, and while there was no doubt that the two had butted heads on more than one occasion, it seemed that they succeeded where some many had failed, their bond surviving the transition to the parent-adult child relationship.

Carson pulled a small item from the pocket his robe, and gazed briefly at the message written on the back.

_I thought I couldn't wait for summer vacation, but it seems less warm and bright without you. Can't wait for fall semester…Go Fighting Irish! Love, Meredith._

He turned it back over, revealing a black and white photo of a young woman who would have had dark red hair and blue eyes in a color snapshot. He ran his thumb over the image as if imagining the feel of her skin, the scent of lilac that he remembered after eighteen years rose unbidden, as it always did when he looked at her picture.

"You'd be proud of her Meredith. She's the best of both of us. Whenever I think that the world is unredeemable, she reminds me that nothing is lost as long as you have hope and are part of the solution." He raised his class of milk in a salute and drained it.

"Yep, we did well, love. I just wish you were here to enjoy it with me."


	3. Our Table

Author's note: Thanks for the reviews so far. I hope chapter three meets with expectations!

* * *

Chapter 3- Our Table

Ned sat in his office, watching the Chicago skyline bleed in the sunset, large mug of coffee in hand. It was his favorite time of day, since most of the other staff had left for the evening and he could close off the world for a few minutes. Down time had been a rarity since graduating from Emerson four years ago. He'd gone straight from school to his job in trade analysis, and hadn't really had a substantial day off since. In two years Ned had gone from his entry level Associate position to leading teams as an Analyst. His focus put people off unless they were on his project team, and then they were oh, so thankful. Ned Nickerson was the rock star, on the partner track. He was also turning into something of a workaholic. Rick, his boss, was hinting at an enforced vacation if he didn't take time off, and soon.

The sky painted itself in hues of orange, yellow, purple and red as it retreated from the coming darkness. Ned swept his gaze across the nice view in his window before settling on the Sears Tower. How he hated that building. Whenever he found himself inside, he counted the minutes until he could leave. He hated the sweating palms, the unsettled feeling that would come over him and knock him off his game.

Ned leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the desk, the very picture of fatigue. It was a wonder he was still on his feet, since he hadn't managed to get any sleep at all the night before. It had become so painfully routine, this visceral response that swept through him. Most of his coworkers assumed 7/25 was to blame, and didn't give him any grief over it. Too many of them had found something that had conveniently prevented them from attending a function at the Sears at least once since that day to give shit to a guy that just gritted his teeth and got through it.

He planned to spend this evening the same way he had done every year. A long day at work would bleed into a blistering workout routine, a light meal and plenty of scotch, followed by the blissful oblivion of sleep. It was the only way he was going to be able to handle his dreams and the day that followed.

Ned looked over at the clock next to his feet. Since it was past 7:30, he hauled himself out of his chair and headed out of his office, grabbing his briefcase and suit jacket on the way. He heard the occasional phone conversation as he passed open doors on the way out, likely mid-level employees trying to get one up on anyone who had the misfortune of having a life outside of their job. A nod in one direction, a wave in the other, all the way to the elevator and the short walk on the pedestrian bridge to his car, and he was finally out of the rat race, for today at least.

He slid behind the wheel , and immediately pulled out again, realizing that he'd sat on something he'd left behind in the driver's seat. Looking down, he spied his cell phone blinking insistently at him. Ned hadn't even realized that he hadn't had his cell phone all day. Paging through his list of "missed calls," he groaned loudly. Maggie had called five times in the last half hour. Sometimes he wondered what he saw in the woman. If she didn't hear from him immediately, she'd keep calling until he picked up the phone. After a couple of embarrassing moments in his meetings, he'd taken to conveniently forgetting to take his phone with him whenever he left his office during the day. Still, five times in thirty minutes was excessive, even for someone as needy as she was.

"Why the hell—oh, son of a bitch!" Ned rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

Maggie.

7/25.

Dinner.

_Oh, fuck me, I'm screwed._

Even if he had tried, there was no way he was going to get out of dinner with her parents. Ned called to tell Maggie he was on his way, sending a return voice message instead of talking to her directly. The last thing he needed at the moment was his girlfriend whining about keeping her parents waiting. It was barely after eight and since the place was only twenty minutes from his office, he would only be a little late. When he showed up her irritation would be forgotten and she would lean against "her man" and beam at her parents without a care in the world.

There were advantages to having a girlfriend with the memory of a guppy.

* * *

August 4, 2005

"God damn this traffic, Ned," Nancy grumbled, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "You'd think all these people had a dinner date with your parents."

Ned smirked at his girlfriend. "I don't think they'd enjoy the conversation." He mimicked his mother's voice. "How's school going, Nancy? When are you going to marry my son?"

Nancy had to laugh. "Thankfully we have not had that conversation yet. The only one I know that wants to get married at twenty-one is Bess."

Ned slowed to a stop at the red light. He could see Vincetti's, their favorite Italian restaurant, on the corner. He turned to Nancy with a sly smile. "We could always practice the honeymoon again," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Nancy looked at his lap. "I see you're already prepared."

"Of course I am. Former Boy Scout, remember?"

Nancy brought her gaze up to his face. "I suppose I could fashion a merit badge for 'Good in the Sack,' but I don't think it will catch on."

Ned puffed out his chest. "Oh, I don't know about that. I've been in way too many locker rooms. There'd be a huge demand for 'Good in the Sack' badges for bragging rights." He put the car in gear and followed through the green light, changing lanes to turn into the restaurant's parking lot. "As long as you women are handing them out, we'll only get one if we pass the test."

He backed his car into an available space and cut off the engine. "Since you didn't earn a sewing badge, I'll settle for a kiss instead." Ned leaned over to Nancy to get his reward. Nancy leaned in, her eyes locked with his. Their lips were a breath apart when Nancy brushed past Ned's to settle on his cheek.

"Hey, now, what happened to my merit badge?" he asked in protest.

"On my honor, Nickerson," Nancy grinned, raising three fingers in the Girl Scout salute. She nodded toward the front of the restaurant. "You'll get the naughty scout when your parents aren't gesturing at us from across the parking lot."

Sure enough, there they were, Edith and Ned Sr. in front of the entrance, his mom waving in welcome.

"I'm gonna collect that promise tonight, Drew," Ned warned her, his voice husky. He suddenly looked at his lap. "I just hope Mom doesn't talk about animal mating like she did the last time we had dinner."

Nancy threw back her head, laughing uproariously, "Oh, my god that was priceless!"

Ned had tried to derail his mom that night, interjecting sports statistics, _any_ sports statistics, to get Mr. Nickerson talking. His father's hearing was perfect, yet he seemed to need his son to repeat himself, and Mrs. Nickerson continued on, happily describing snow leopard courtship. Nancy had been surprised that Ned's father wasn't trying as hard as his son to move the conversation to a less embarrassing topic. He was not an overly demonstrative man among strangers, but once he took a person into his home and knew them one-on-one, he warmed up to them. Still, he was rather self-contained, so it wasn't even easy for his family to know what was on his mind. She'd looked at him closely to see what he was actually thinking when he looked up from his porterhouse, and without changing expression, winked at her.

It had taken all of her power not to spit out her wine.

Tears flowed from Nancy's eyes as she recalled it all, and Ned, grumbling about the lack of respect from his girlfriend, got out of the car. He walked around the back of the car and opened the front passenger door for Nancy, something his parents firmly expected him to do, especially for a serious relationship. Dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, Nancy took a deep breath and climbed out of the car, accepting Ned's hand as she did so. After Ned closed the door, she pulled at his suit jacket to make him face her. She smiled at his parents, and made a show of straightening his tie.

Still smiling as she smoothed it out, she said, "If I recall, as if I could forget, we tried our best to do a reenactment." She stood up on tiptoe and gave him a peck on the lips. "We'll be fine tonight, Nickerson. If your mom asks me when I'm going to marry you, I'll just tell her that once I get my pre-baby figure back, we're planning an outdoor wedding." She grabbed his hand, eyes laughing.

Ned felt relieved and horny at the same time. "I'll tell her you got pregnant after we watched that documentary and got ideas." He chuckled and squeezed her hand. "Beauty, brains, a wicked wit, and they're all in one package? I'm a lucky man, Drew."

Nancy smiled up at him. "Of course you are, Nickerson. I'll remind you of that later. Now, let's go scarf down some awesome food on your parent's bill."

* * *

Ned sat in Vincetti's parking lot, wondering when Maggie had managed to pry the name of his favorite place out of him. The irrational part of him wanted to strangle the woman. This was _their_ place, the site of hours of snogging in recessed booths and sharing plates of antipasto when Nancy wasn't hungry enough for her own meal. After Nancy started at University of Chicago, they came here for dinner so often that the host always gave them the same table.

This was the last place that he was prepared to hand over his memories to somebody else.

Ned had yet to actually meet Maggie's parents, but had spoken to them over the phone. Her mother was particularly emotional, relating to Ned how happy she was that her daughter had someone to take care of her, "to be her champion," she'd said. Ned had the funny feeling that Maggie and her mother already had bridesmaid dresses and place settings in mind for a June wedding sometime in the future.

He wasn't looking forward to the day that he would tell her she dreamed of a wedding that would never take place. There would probably be tears, and Maggie would brokenly ask him what she had done to make him fall out of love with her. He'd have to tell her that it wasn't her, that he just didn't think that they were marriage material. At that point Maggie would temporarily brighten up and say the one thing that was the most unforgivable.

The one woman he _did_ want to marry wasn't here.

* * *

September 1, 2005

Ned paced in front of Vincetti's, alternately looking down at his watch and scanning the traffic. He'd managed to get to the restaurant ahead of Nancy. Vincetti's location on E 61st Street was a convenient place for them to meet, close as it was to U of Chicago's campus, and she normally grabbed their spot so they would have a nice table. Nancy's classes were already over for the day, so it was a mystery to him that they weren't already ordering their favorite dishes and making plans for the rest of the evening.

Ned jumped out of his skin as on old VW Rabbit backfired on its way past. Mumbling a curse at the driver, he resumed his vigil for his girlfriend, trying not to fight the worst case scenarios popping up in his mind.

He'd always been a bit of a worrier as far as Nancy was concerned. She was addicted to trouble like a junkie craved heroin, and could easily stumble onto a case between her dorm room and the restaurant. As an amateur detective she'd been poisoned, nearly blown up or drowned on multiple occasions—once at the same time, kidnapped God knew how many times, mistaken for a famous person and hunted, not to mention a host of other things that he could imagine but was convinced Nancy never revealed to him. It didn't help that her father was famous enough to take high profile criminal cases with which she sometimes got involved.

Then, of course, he remembered the men. Good Christ, the army of men that would have loved to snatch her away from him, even if he was around to watch. Frank Hardy was the most familiar, but even he was the least of his worries. International playboys, spies, rock stars and wealthy heirs had all vied for her affection…and more, at one point or another, and it was always a case that put her in their sights. He'd helped her on enough cases to feel the rush she got from uncovering the truth, the excitement of walking on the edge of the precipice to catch the bad guy. They'd come close to tumbling into bed as a result more times than he could remember, so it was ironic that their first time had come after a night at Vincetti's over a huge plate of lamb-stuffed tortellini.

Nancy had never cheated on him, thank God, but those cases had landed her in plenty of intimate embraces. She didn't hesitate to confess them to him whenever they happened, though she tried to wait until they were face to face before saying anything. Mick Devlin had caused an ungodly number of fights between them, until she asked him how many girls he'd kissed in the heat of the moment. His embarrassed blush was the start of a strange entente between them. From then on kissing was allowed, as long as neither of them went too far.

He was able to breathe easy once Nancy ended her break from school and began her college studies at U of Chicago. Ned wasn't too happy about her decision not to enroll at Emerson, but at least college meant she couldn't traipse all over the world putting herself in harm's way for free. Once he'd graduated and moved to the Windy City, he'd tried to get her to move in with him, but she'd opted to spend her first year in the dorms, with George as her roommate. They'd only briefly fought over that, Nancy telling him that she hadn't gone off to college to trade one parent for another. Since she'd arrived in Chicago, they'd settled into a comfortable routine, and Ned had allowed himself to relax his guard. Now that he was able to keep an eye on her on a more consistent basis, it didn't seem as big of a deal any more—of course, he would never openly admit that his preoccupation with Nancy's hobby bordered on the obsessive.

Since 7/25, it had become downright pathological.

Ned found himself compiling a list of worst case scenarios, his "what could have happened to Nancy to make her late" game, when a sharp whistle jostled him out of his macabre musings. He brought himself back into the real world in time to see his girlfriend in the crosswalk, catching a driver's appreciative eye as she walked into Vincetti's parking lot. Her face was all smiles as she stopped in front of him and threw her arms around his neck.

"Fancy meeting you here, Nickerson," she breathed, lifting her face to receive his kiss.

He pulled her against him and nibbled at her lip. "We've gotta be careful, sweetheart," he said, conspiratorially. "My girlfriend lives nearby, and she'd kill me if she knew I was steppin' out on her." He looked around, as if making sure he saw no one he knew. "If we hurry, we can get dinner and be at my place in no time."

Nancy grinned, enjoying their game. "I don't wanna get ya into trouble Neddy," she cooed, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger. "We'd better get inside, so's I can store up some energy for later tonight." She pulled away from him and headed toward the restaurant entrance, putting an exaggerated swing in her hips. She suddenly stopped, causing him to run into her, and looked back at him. "I think we should order oysters, don't you, Neddy?"

His sudden hard on answered for him.

After dinner, they headed for his apartment, a condo in Hyde Park off Everett Ave. They walked the route arm and arm, mostly in silence, both content to enjoy each other's presence as they walked off the tiramisu that Nancy couldn't resist ordering. By the time they reached Ned's place, they were both sweaty from the waning Chicago heat and craving a shower.

Ned stepped in the shower stall and into scalding hot water. He braced his hands on the back wall and let the nozzle blast the space between his holder blades, closing his eyes with a sigh of pleasure as the tension was washed away. He poured shampoo into his hands and ran his hands through his hair, vigorously scrubbing at his scalp and enjoying the clean feeling that rinsing off the suds left behind.

With his head under the spray, he didn't hear the shower door open, but the nails that lightly scored his hips told him he was no longer alone. Ned finished rinsing the shampoo out of his hair and face and turned around to confront the interloper.

"You know," he began, looking down at his girlfriend, "that trespassing is a serious offense?"

Nancy gave him her best belligerent glare. "Oh, really?" she asked mockingly. "Just what are you going to do about it, then?" She leaned her shoulders back against the wall, then the rest of her followed as Ned laid his palms flat against the wall, trapping her.

Ned took his time, gazing at Nancy from head to toe, the spray misting on her body, dripping down onto the shower floor. She continued to glare at him, but the heat from the water began to flush her skin. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and as she would tell him later on, her legs were turning into rubber.

Ned moved in, closer, until his body pinned Nancy's against the back wall. "I generally get rid of people who disturb my privacy, but you…well you, I'll just have to deal with," he grazed his lips against her collarbone, "in a special way."

His arms found their way to Nancy's waist while his lips captured hers. Tongue met tongue as the two of them drowned in each other. Ned locked his thighs and calves to keep from slipping, and then picked Nancy up. Now eye to eye, he pressed against her, and Nancy could not deny how aroused he was. The heat between her thighs was just as intense, and with a long moan, she wrapped her legs around his waist granting him leave to close the distance between them.

He pumped inside of her, bracing her against the wall, feeling the spray at his back. Nancy arched against him as much as she could, urging him on with each moan, each gasp of pleasure. They pushed each other further, faster, up and over the edge, satisfaction flowing through their limbs after release. Ned leaned against the wall for a moment after Nancy pulled away, both of them trying to steady themselves, neither wanting to speak after that brief wave of passion. It was touch and go as both showered, enjoying the mutual touching, washing each other's backs. They captured the afterglow, making it last as long as possible before returning to reality.

* * *

That night had been the last time Ned and Nancy had managed to have a decent night alone together. Ned couldn't really blame Nancy's classes or his work obligations, and he knew it. So much had happened; too much had come to pass.

As he walked across the parking lot into Vincetti's, Ned wondered if Nancy would ever share their special table with him again.


End file.
